Just Some Guy
by Jenaneter
Summary: RENT. A song fic about Roger and Mark. Roger's getting sicker, and Mark is afraid to be left alone.


I own nothing. The characters in this belong to Jonathan Larson. The song is _Just Some Guy_, from Anthony Rapp's CD _Look Around_. I also don't own that. Please, I have nothing, don't sue.

_So he's holding my in his arms_

_And he's giving me sweet little kisses_

_And he's telling me he'll never harm me_

And he's whispering how wonderful this is 

_And I tell him that I love him_

Mark looked at the young man laying on the hospital bed. Roger had always been pale, but now he seemed almost blue underneath his skin. Mark couldn't believe he was going to watch it happen again. The same thing that happened to Angel was happening in front of his eyes. Happening to the person Mark cared most about in the world.

_And I tell him I'll be true_

_And I've said these things to other boys_

_But right now_

_The old words feel so new_

As the hours drifted by, and Mark sat, holding Roger's hand in his, staring at the beeping machines, he let his mind wander, thinking back to better times. He let himself remember all of his friends who had died. April, and Mimi, and Angel. And Collins.

_And I ask him_

"_How did I get so lucky?_

_I didn't even have to try."_

Mark couldn't bear to think that Roger would get added to that list. When they had moved out of The Loft, into a new apartment, Mark thought things would get better. They had a new place to live, with electricity, and clean water. And they had each other. One good thing had come from Collins' death. Mark and Roger had finally confessed their feelings for one another.

"_I don't know he said," he says,_

"_I'm nothing special._

_I'm just some guy."_

A nurse came into the room, fiddled with a machine or an IV or something, and excited again. Mark hardly realized that she was there. He thought about their first night in their new apartment. Collins was still alive, and him, Benny, Maureen, Mark and Roger were sitting on the new couch getting drunk, and talking about old times. Talking about old friends who they hadn't seen in a while. The Loft. April. Angel.

_And he's smiling like he means it_

_And he's stretched out on his back_

_And he's telling me now that he loves me_

_For the fifth or the sixth time _

_I can't keep track_

They held Collins' funeral in the same place they had had Angel's. Mark remembered Roger's hollow eyed stare. This was to much. April, Angel, Mimi and Collins. They had all died in the space of two years. How could that be possible?

_And I watch his eyes as they shone_

_Run my fingers through his hair_

_And I touch his chest where his heart is_

_And I tell him, "I find safe haven there."_

Mark shook his head a little, and dragged himself back to the present. This wasn't going to be like that. Roger wasn't going to die. He would be fine. Mark watched his chest raise up and down slightly. As long as there was breath in Roger's lungs he would be fine.

_And I ask him,_

"_How did you get to be_

So sweet and so kind?" 

Roger's eyelids fluttered open, and he saw Mark sitting there, a tired expression on his face. Roger tried to smile and sit up, but he started to cough. Mark held his hand tightly.

"_I don't know," he says_

"_I'm nothing special._

_I'm just some guy."_

Finally the coughing stopped, and Roger open his mouth to speak. He said something, but it was to quiet for Mark to hear. "Say that again Rog." Mark leaned forward and Roger whispered in his ear.

_And I say, _

"_Your heart is so big_

_And your minds so alive._

_You have passion and freedom_

_And vision and drive_

_You have to much to give_

_And you give it with care_

_You have helped me to heal_

_And there's nowhere_

_I won't go with you."_

"Stop worrying. It's going to be fine." Mark felt like his heart was being torn in half. How fair was it that Roger had to tell Mark not to worry? Mark nodded, and sat back. He tried to change his expression. He tried to smile.

_And he's holding me now even tighter_

_And he's breathing me in_

_And he's telling me again that he loves me_

_And he's tracing his fingertips over my skin_

They sat in silence for a long time. Roger didn't have the breath to talk, and Mark couldn't think of anything to say. Finally Roger opened his mouth again. Mark leaned forward and Roger whispered, "Play her song." Mark nodded, and let go of Roger's hand. He picked up Roger's old acoustic guitar, and made sure it was tuned.

_And I'm happier now than I've ever been_

_And I'm hoping this feeling won't pass_

_And if he says he just some guy,_

_That's fine—_

_The truth is, he's mine_

Roger had started to teach Mark guitar the week they had moved into the new apartment. Mark could remember Roger sitting behind him on the bed, his arms around Mark as he placed Mark's hands in the right spots. He hadn't taught him much (he was already getting weak) but Mark had learned quickly. The first song, the only song, that Mark had learned was _Your Eyes_. Mimi's song.

_My sweetheart, my live_

_Sent down from the sky_

_Who's so very much more_

_Than just some guy._

Mark finished strumming the song, and singing it softly. He looked at the smiling form on the bed. Mark brushed away tears. At least Roger had died happy.


End file.
